Page 95 of The Cursed Chalice

I look at my gloved hand, and I chuckle at my ring and the way the diamond expands, almost tearing the glove. I remember that Hecate joked and said Ares got me a reminder to other men: I am out of their tax bracket.

I put my cleaning tools to the side and dig into my apron pocket. I find my phone and take a photo of my workstation.

Opening my messages, I send it to Ares.

Me: Currently working on this gorgeous pic.

Ares: Good.

I blink. ‘Good?’ Was that all he had to say? That’s all he ever has to say these days. One-word responses.

I take my gloves off and press my bare hands to my head.

“Coffee. I need coffee.” It doesn’t take me long to take off my apron and head down to the museum’s cafeteria.

I get my coffee and pour the creamer in.

“Oh, bollocks.” I look to the side only to see coffee spill onto a woman’s white skirt. She hops and dances around, most likely because it’s hot.

I grab some tissues and head her way.

“Here, use these.”

When she lifts her head, my jaw drops. She is ethereally gorgeous. I don’t think there is a word in the dictionary to describe her beauty.

“Thank you.” She takes the tissues from my hand and dabs her skirt. “I am such a clumsy one.”

She drops her bag softly on a metal chair and pulls out another chair and sits. Everything that she does looks elegant and graceful.

“Maybe you can get another coffee.” Before I can suggest having the barista replace it, a barista comes rushing over with coffee in his hand.

“Here you are,” he says, his eyes never leaving hers.

She smiles, and I swear you hear a small tinkle. What the hell is going on?

“Let me pay.” She reaches for her purse.

The barista instantly stretches his hands out. “No, it’s okay. Would you like anything else?”

She taps her cherry-colored lips. “Yes, I would like one of your sugar cookies and a new coffee for my savior.”

I blink, trying to refocus. “No, it’s okay.”

“Are you listening to me?” She tilts her head to the side, and the barista nods and hustles off.

Well, I guess that’s what happens when you’re a supermodel.

“Sit with me.”

I almost say no to the lady with the amethyst-colored eyes and blonde hair. There is something…unnatural about her. She’s statuesque, and her presence feels commanding.

“I’m Venus. I’m one of the new patrons of the museum.” Venus stretches her hand out to me. Even her fingers are elegant.

My palm touches hers, and we shake.

“I’m Soraya. You are absolutely stunning, Venus.” I take my hand away.

She smiles. “You are also nauseatingly pretty.”